


The Rose

by Kate_Swynford



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:57:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Swynford/pseuds/Kate_Swynford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five looks at Elizabeth of York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_spook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/gifts).



I. 1480. THE PRINCESS 

The visit to England brought Margaret, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, nothing but disappointment. Her mother was old and bitter, her once handsome and dashing brother Edward was fat and drunk, and her favourite brother Richard was mostly absent from court. Margaret’s political mission was a success – the relations between England and Burgundy were better then ever although King Edward was still getting a pension from France. Not surprising, really, considering his appetite for luxury and the number of his grasping in-laws. Margaret, like most of her blood relatives, disliked her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Woodville, heartily. She might have been a great beauty but she brought her brother nothing but trouble and expenses. Even now, Margaret found that she could not enjoy her venison pie watching her sister-in-law. Elizabeth, barely out of her confinement with yet another offspring, was presiding over the Christmas feast, surrounded by her countless relations.  
The one good thing about the marriage were the children, Margaret supposed. This Christmas – her first in England after so many years! – was the first time she saw all her nephews together. The ten-year-old Prince of Wales was either too arrogant or too shy but he certainly had none of the easy grace and charm his father was so famous for. Margaret much preferred his younger brother, the seven-year-old Duke of York, a clever little prankster with a winning smile. All the six girls were beauties, including the infant Bridget, but to Margaret, the true jewel of the House of York was her eldest niece, Edward’s first-born daughter Elizabeth. At fourteen the girl was tall and fair, with her father’s golden hair, blue eyes and full mouth (Margaret was determined to ignore that the princess may have inherited some of her mother’s features as well and was convinced that her niece was the spitting image of her when she was her age). She was a little awkward, as if she hadn’t fully grown into womanhood yet and wasn’t sure how to move in this new, unfamiliar body. It was only when she danced that she seemed to be completely at ease, instinctively knowing what her next move would be.  
The dancing was still under way when Elizabeth, flushed and happy, made her way to her Aunt. By that time the Duchess had moved on to candied nuts, honeyed fruit and sweetmeats. She found them more to her liking, and the sight of her niece, along with the spiced wine improved her spirits even more.  
“Come, sit with me for a while”, she said. “It is a pleasure to watch you dance. You are quite the Rose of York.” The young princess blushed. “I am surprised you are not yet betrothed. Rather remiss of your parents.” Of course, Margaret knew perfectly well of the deal Edward had made with Louis of France. Invade the country, spend weeks drinking and carousing there and go home with the bribes, gifts and pensions from the French King – that was the sum of her brother’s glory. A proposed marriage alliance between young Elizabeth and the French Dauphin was one of the many perks of that expedition.  
“You know that I am,” said Elizabeth. “I am going to be Queen of France.” She looked pleased at the prospect. “I am going to make sure there is no more enmity between France and Burgundy,” she adds earnestly. “After all, family should not fight each other.”  
No, they should not, Margaret thought, but they always do. If Elizabeth hadn’t learned that from her Uncle George’s attempts to seize the crown from her father, she was in for a harsh lesson. Family made the best allies and the most dangerous enemies, and they should never be trusted.

 

II. 1484. THE LADY BASTARD

Anne knew this Christmas was going to be her last. She was so weak that every movement felt like an impossible chore, and she could feel the disease draining the last of her strength with every passing second. But most of all, the joy was gone. It disappeared the day she received news of the death of her only child but often she thought that it had been the day Richard took the crown that was their downfall. He had said that it was right and just, that his brother Edward’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was false and their sons could not inherit the throne, and wouldn’t it be better for the land to have a grown man, a proven commander for a king instead of a green boy? It all sounded true and was undoubtedly reasonable but she felt they hadn’t known a moment’s peace since that day. Two conspiracies against Richard, one rebellion, the threat of impending war, their Edward’s sudden death – wasn’t that proof enough that God hadn’t meant Richard to be King? But Richard seemed to think that all their troubles were in the past and was determined to give Londoners the royal Christmas they were accustomed to. There were processions, banquets, masques and dancing. The court and the city embraced the festivities, and Anne found herself drawn into the preparations even though she knew she would likely be too ill to enjoy Christmas let alone to participate in the celebrations. Richard provided her with every possible care and comfort and was solicitous about her health but he either didn’t understand or deliberately ignored how bad things really were. And it wasn’t like her presence was missed by the court – there was someone who proved to be a fitting replacement.  
Just thinking about it made Anne so angry that she felt more alive than she had in months. Richard had declared Edward’s children by Elizabeth Woodville bastards. He had sent their boys to live in one of his castles in Yorkshire – the further they were from London the better, he reasoned. She just wished he had sent Edward’s daughters to Yorkshire as well. Instead, he had brought them to court.  
What must it be like for them to be here as royal bastards without titles or prospects when two years ago they had been princesses? How can Richard expect them to be grateful? But grateful is what they seemed, particularly the eldest, Elizabeth. Ever since the girl became one of Anne’s ladies-in-waiting, the Queen couldn’t find fault with her. Elizabeth was always pleasant and cheerful, she played the lute and sang, she was quick to perform every service the Queen asked of her, and it had to be humiliating though Anne tried not to abuse the privilege.  
The young gentlemen of the court were drawn to Elizabeth like flies to honey. Even now, as Anne could see from her seat of honour, there were no less than three admirers trying to amuse the former princess. Why, Anne thought for a thousandth time, why had Richard married off the second girl, Cecily, but not Elizabeth? Surely, Elizabeth was a greater threat to his dynasty – if her brothers were dead, like it was rumoured, though Anne knew better than to believe it, she would be her father’s heir and the focus for everyone who wanted to stir discontent. Already the exiled Henry Tudor had pledged to marry her and suddenly it gave more weight to his barely valid claim. Wouldn’t it be better to marry her off or to send her to a convent? But no, Richard was determined to keep her close at court. He paid attention to her, always had a gift for her, and Elizabeth seemed to light up in his presence.  
There she sat, regal and young, wearing an exact copy of Anne’s dress made of cloth of gold. The robe seemed to drain Anne of colour and emphasize how ill and tired she looked, but it seemed to add to Elizabeth’s radiant beauty. It was Elizabeth who looked like she belonged here. It was Elizabeth who was asked to step into the Queen’s role this Christmas whenever Anne was too ill. It was Elizabeth who drew all the admiring gazes. It was Elizabeth who was always at the King’s side. And Elizabeth would still be there when Anne was gone.

III. 1485. THE BRIDE

Christmas celebrations were rushed this year, with only three weeks left before the wedding. But Henry had to have his way, and he was very keen to marry his White Rose of York now. He had seemed reluctant to proceed with the marriage he regarded as a necessity in the first months after his victory at Bosworth but after his coronation at the end of October he appeared to abandon his doubts, and the date was set.  
Lady Margaret always knew that her son would keep his word. Two years ago he had promised to marry Elizabeth, to unite the Houses of York and Lancaster, to bring peace to the land. Now that he was King, marriage to Elizabeth would bring all the York supporters into the fold. . She came from a notoriously fertile family – another point in her favour. Her mother and both her grandmothers had given birth to more than ten children each. Margaret had only one child, this son she loved so much and knew so little, and she was prepared to do anything for his advancement. She had done much and sacrificed much to see him crowned but a King had to have more heirs.  
Besides, Lady Margaret rather liked the girl – she seemed utterly malleable and docile. The events after her father’s death had left her suitably frightened, and she was grateful to Henry. And she should be, Lady Margaret thought. Symbol of the House of York she might be, but her reputation was far from untarnished, after King Richard had had to publicly deny the rumours that he was planning to marry his niece.  
As Lady Margaret entered Elizabeth’s apartments, her ladies were crowded around her, admiring something in the box on her lap.  
“Look, my lady,” cried Cecily, Elizabeth’s sister, who was the first to notice her, “look what the King has sent for Elizabeth! Isn’t it beautiful?”  
It was a beautiful necklace – a golden square set with four pearls in each corner and a cross of five rubies in the middle. A fitting gift for a future Queen. It was unlike Henry to be so free-giving. Years of exile and poverty had made him quite tight-fisted.  
“We are all very grateful to Henry for ridding us of the usurper and restoring us to our lawful place. Henry has been very generous to my daughter,” Elizabeth’s mother, the Dowager Queen, said rather smugly. “He spares no expense to please her. Besides, he knows how important court appearances are.” Margaret straightened and pursed her lips. She knew she often looked like a black crow among the brightly coloured birds of the court but it never bothered her. Cecily giggled. The Dowager Queen smiled and continued, “Elizabeth is so young and inexperienced. Fortunately, there will be someone to teach her all that a Queen should know.”  
Like what? Margaret wondered. How to bewitch a King? The girl didn’t need any lessons for that. Already Henry sought her company more and more often, gave her more gifts than Margaret thought necessary or appropriate, and lost his usual pinched and dour look in her presence. What else could Elizabeth Woodville teach her daughter? How to advance her grasping relatives by any means? How to enrich them leaving the Royal Treasury empty? How to forget all decency and piety? The woman seemed to think things would go on as before, ignoring the fact that she was no longer the King’s wife. But Margaret had no intention of letting her forget that.  
As the Dowager Queen went on about the glory of her husband’s court, Margaret’s eyes suddenly met those of young Elizabeth. There was complete understanding in those eyes. Understanding and some emotion that Margaret found difficult to define and that came and went as swiftly as a ripple on a calm surface of a lake. Then Elizabeth schooled her features back into her usual mask of blank sweetness and continued listening to her mother.

 

IV. 1499. THE QUEEN

Lady Catherine’s husband was executed five weeks before Christmas but she didn’t wear mourning. She stayed at court and waited on the Queen every day, only occasionally allowing herself to think: “Your husband had mine executed.” There had been no great love in her marriage but there had been promises and expectations in abundance, and now she had nothing. She was lucky to be free even if that meant being in the service of the woman she had hoped to replace. She was the widow of a traitor, a pretender to the throne who probably never was who he claimed to be.  
This evening the Queen returned from the visit to the Royal nursery. The bright chatter of her young daughters always put her in a good mood. The infant Prince Edmund was thriving, and the thirteen-year-old Prince of Wales was expected from Ludlow the next day. The little Henry, Duke of York, who was not so secretly his mother’s favourite, had learned to play a ballad the Queen loved and performed it for her. A visit with her children never failed to put the Queen in good spirits, so it was no surprise when she beckoned Catherine to help her select the jewels she wanted to give to her sisters. The task was an enviable one: often the lady who helped the Queen received a gift for herself.  
The other ladies settled with their own tasks – reading, playing dice, playing the lute, and suddenly Catherine realized that there was no one to listen to what she and the Queen might say. It couldn’t have been an accident. From her brief months at court, Catherine had learned that nothing happened in Elizabeth’s household unless she wished it and that she was aware of every little detail. No one interfered into the order of that little world, not even the Queen’s formidable mother-in-law.  
“Do not think I don’t understand what it is like for you, Lady Gordon,” the Queen said. “There was a time when my place was taken from me and I had to be a lady-in-waiting to the woman who took it. And I would have continued to serve her with grace and good cheer had Fate not intervened. The difference is that her husband was a usurper, and mine is the rightful king. So it could not have ended differently. You are young as I was then, so you had better put it all behind you. You will marry again. I can even find a husband for you. I’ve become quite good at matchmaking, even my husband admits that.”  
“They all said he was your brother, that he hadn’t really died,” Catherine said quietly. “The Duchess of Burgundy, his – your own Aunt was sure of it. How could I doubt that?”  
“Yes, she would say that. She was always eager to meddle if it could serve Burgundy’s interests. She only saw my brother York once, when he was seven. Men change a lot between the ages of seven and five-and-twenty. Why, ten years ago she was just as convinced that Simnel the kitchen-boy was my brother York.”  
“She said she looked like your father the King. She said he could only be his son”  
“My father had many children, and not all of them with my mother,” the Queen said calmly, “so that may very well be true. It still didn’t make him the rightful king. I am my father’s true heir. I wonder, if Aunt Margaret, who is so keen to help her relatives, would have been as kind to my exiled sons if your husband had prevailed? If they even escaped with their lives?” There was nothing Catherine could say to that. Elizabeth continued, “As I said, you are still young. There will be another husband for you, there will be children. There is no point in dwelling on what might have been. If I did that, I would have gone mad a long time ago!”

IV. 1502. THE MOTHER

It was the worst Christmas of Katherine’s life. Last year she was the newly married Princess of Wales and the future Queen of England. This year she was a widow of an uncertain title and still more uncertain prospects. Arthur’s death in April had come as a shock to everyone. At first there had been tentative hope that Katherine might be carrying his child but it soon became obvious that this was not the case. Privately, Katherine doubted that what she and Arthur did could even lead to children as neither was quite certain how to proceed.  
The title of Prince of Wales transferred to Arthur’s eleven-year-old brother Henry, and Katherine was left with nothing. Her father had refused to pay the rest of her dowry since there was no marriage, and he and King Henry had been involved in lengthy squabbling correspondence ever since. Katherine was bored, cooped up in the house the King had granted her, with only her Spanish attendants who regarded their stay in England as an unpleasant exile and could do nothing to help her. There were only two brief rays of hope: one was the invitation to spend the Christmas at court in Richmond, and the other was the thing she and the Queen were discussing.  
“Spain and England still want the alliance, though Arthur is dead,” the Queen paused and then continued, “I’ve lost three children and it never gets any easier. My mother told me it’s easier to bury an infant than a child almost grown, but I haven’t found it so. Each time was terrible. I can’t imagine having only one child, like my mother-in-law, with all our hopes pinned on him. When Arthur died, I told Henry we were young enough to have more children, as if it could make the loss bearable.”  
Well, thought Katherine, it was obvious that the King had been consoled, because the Queen was due in February. She wondered what it was like for a beautiful woman who loved making merry and dancing, to be married to a dull weedy man who looked older than he was and whose only interest seemed to be counting money. But she was more interested in discussing the new idea that she should marry Prince Henry. She had nothing against the proposed marriage. Henry was six years younger but already he was more interesting company than Arthur had been, and his gallant manners and obvious admiration flattered her. Besides, she had been preparing to become the Queen of England almost as long as she could remember. No sense in letting it all fall apart because Arthur was dead.  
“Of course, it will have to wait,” the Queen was saying. “Henry is too young for marriage. He was never raised to inherit the Crown, and he has much to learn. But in several years…”  
“And meanwhile I will just remain locked up in that ghastly house, where no one tells me everything! Do you know what it is like there? Everyone is whispering around me and trying to play me. I have no friends, and my family have all but abandoned me! There is nothing I can do, except pray! ” Katherine exclaimed. The thought was unbearable.  
“But it won’t always be like this, believe me," Elizabeth said kindly. Her mere presence was restful and helped soothe Katherine's fears. The Queen smiled and closed her eyes for a second. Her face was as calm and serene as ever. "You must learn patience. Good things come to those who wait,” she said, and Katherine felt comforted. 


End file.
